


Company We Keep

by sanders



Series: Things Arc [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanders/pseuds/sanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not the only son who won't make it home for Christmas. [2/6-Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia: UST, cute pajamas and lumpy couches]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Company We Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Test reads by [](http://blueraccoon.livejournal.com/profile)[**blueraccoon**](http://blueraccoon.livejournal.com/) &amp; [](http://kelly-girl.livejournal.com/profile)[**kelly_girl**](http://kelly-girl.livejournal.com/), but all mistakes are mine. Cross-posted to and written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/profile)[**choc_fic**](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/), The Characters of Color Multi-Fandom Love Fest. This is intended to be the first of a series of stand-alone pieces set in the same universe. Followed by [Things We See](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/77536.html) and [Things We Can't Forget](http://sandersyager.livejournal.com/98286.html)

_**Company We Keep [Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan/Penelope Garcia, PG-13/FRT]**_  
**Title:** Company We Keep  
**Author/Artist:** [](http://sandersyager.livejournal.com/profile)[**sandersyager**](http://sandersyager.livejournal.com/)  
**Rating:** PG-13/FRT   
**Pairing:** Garcia/Morgan, het  
**Summary:** He's not the only son who won't make it home for Christmas. [2/6-Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia: UST, cute pajamas and lumpy couches]  
**Warnings:** Vague spoilers for episodes "Lucky" and "Penelope" (3.08 &amp; 3.09). Heterosexual flirting and discussions of sexuality.  
**Word count:** 2,984  
**Author's Note:** Test reads by [](http://blueraccoon.livejournal.com/profile)[**blueraccoon**](http://blueraccoon.livejournal.com/) &amp; [](http://kelly-girl.livejournal.com/profile)[**kelly_girl**](http://kelly-girl.livejournal.com/), but all mistakes are mine. Cross-posted to and written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/profile)[**choc_fic**](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/), The Characters of Color Multi-Fandom Love Fest. This is intended to be the first of a series of stand-alone pieces set in the same universe. Followed by [Things We See](http://community.livejournal.com/choc_fic/77536.html) and [Things We Can't Forget](http://sandersyager.livejournal.com/98286.html)

_"Always set high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord will love you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you."_  
\--Samuel Johnson

The disappointment in his mother's voice comes through loud and clear, making her assurances that she understands, that it isn't his fault and it's just the weather sound forced. Derek rubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath.

"As soon as the airport's clear and I can get a flight out, I'll be there, Momma," he says. "If nothing else, tell those good-for-nothing sisters of mine that I'll see them on New Year's Eve."

"I will, baby, word for word," his mother promises with a chuckle.

"Aw, Mom, don't set me up like that," Derek says, knowing it's as good as done and he can expect some serious snow balls coming his way as soon as he makes it home. The call ends with his mother still laughing at him.

A glance around the airport tells him he's not the only son who won't make it home for Christmas. It's a kind of cold comfort, and only less stinging than the wind outside the terminal. He heads for the ground transportation area, takes one look at the line for taxis and swears a blue streak under his breath.

All around him, other stranded travelers talk to each other, to anonymous people on the other end of cell phones, to the poor lady trying to keep some semblance of order to the line as cabs leave and arrive. He almost misses the shrill ring of his own cell through the noise, managing to answer just before it would have kicked the call to voice mail.

"Isn't it funny how you were just starting to miss the dulcet tones of my voice and then I called you?" Garcia. Only Garcia would call now, and he takes a step away from the crowd, smiling despite himself.

"Didn't think I'd hear from you until after the holiday," he says. "I thought you were going to play your friends in DC."

Garcia sighs, long and dramatic. "I thought so, too, but apparently a dead Naval officer and his missing fiancée take precedence over Christmas Eve with Abby and her boy," she says. "And I've heard a little rumor that I'm not the only one whose plans fell through. How'd your mom take the news?"

"You were watching the airlines again, weren't you?" Derek asks, shaking his head.

"Yes, but only because I wanted to know that everyone was getting where they were supposed to be," Garcia says, sounding mildly annoyed. "JJ's stuck in Philly and Prentiss can't get a flight out, either. It's going to take you ages to get a cab, you know and longer to get home. I have cookies and the Grinch."

"You lost me, baby," he says, doing a quick mental count of the number of people ahead of him in the line.

"You. Here. Come keep me company if you can get away from the airport," Garcia says. "My place is closer if you can get out in the morning, and I'm baking roughly three million cookies and I need someone to eat them."

"Yeah, okay," Derek agrees. It sounds better than going home to an empty apartment and emptier fridge. "Wait. You're baking? Isn't that against some law somewhere?"

"Heh, funny, smart guy," Garcia says. "See if I let you have any of my double fudge raspberry delights."

"Oh, c'mon, sweet girl. You wouldn't do me like that, would you?" he says, realizing a moment too late that he's probably set himself up for a half dozen teasing responses, and he's pretty sure he can hear Garcia smiling on the other end of the phone.

"Sexy, I'd do you any way you wanted if you asked nicely enough, but you're still not getting my cookies," she says. "Seriously, get here when you can."

**

An hour and a half later, Derek drags himself and his suitcase up the front steps to Garcia's building, carefully staying away from the pavement he knows is still marked with blood even beneath the three inches of snow and ice. It was just too damned close of a call, and maybe tonight he'll try again to convince her to move into a new building.

Knowing there's a nice two bedroom available just down the hall from his place has nothing at all to do with it.

Really.

He shakes his head and knocks on the door. Analyzing why he often wants to just surround her with some kind of Kevlar-bubble wrap hybrid and keep her safe can wait at least until after he's had coffee and defrosted his hands.

The look Garcia gives him when she finally opens the door, one part exasperation and one part relief, makes him grin. "Sorry it took so long, baby," he says, lowering his eyes into the appropriately contrite expression. "I know I should never make such a gorgeous woman wait for me, and how can I make it up to you?"

Garcia laughs, grabbing his arm. "Get in here, you fool, before the neighbors start gossiping," she says. "Does that puppy dog face and the whole apologetic act ever work?"

"It wasn't an act," he protests, albeit weakly, dragging his suitcase into the living room. He sets it in the corner next to the couch and sheds his jacket, hat, gloves and scarf, arranging all of it into a semi-neat pile before turning back to her. "Cab actually made pretty good time considering the roads are pretty much an ice rink about now."

"Which is why you shouldn't be out on them tonight," Garcia says, "and exactly why you should be here, in my nice warm apartment, keeping me company."

He has to admit it is pretty toasty, and definitely an improvement on being outside. Of course the smells of vanilla, brown sugar, chocolate and cinnamon have nothing to do with it. The added sight of Garcia in a frilly red apron, tied over a rather plain long sleeved shirt and pants, is just the disorienting and amusing bonus to it all.

"So you really are baking," he says, looking at the countertop full of cooling racks and holiday themed canisters. Baking might be an understatement, since she seems be trying to give Betty Crocker a run for her money. "What are you going to do with all of this?"

Garcia shrugs, glancing at the timer on the oven. "Most of them will go to shelters. Some of them are for the office, and Abby always gets a few boxes to take in for her agents," she says, leaning against the counter. "I thought... well, I'm sending a package out to Reid's mom, not that I think she'll remember me, but someone should remember her, you know? So, I thought since I'm sending something to Mrs. Reid, I should think about sending something with you to your mom and sisters."

Derek has to smile at the way her voice goes up at the end of the sentence, not quite a statement and not exactly a question. "I'd like that, yeah," he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "That's sweet of you. Of course, it'll set my mother off, wanting to know more about you and if you might finally be the one to give her all those grandbabies she wants, and my sisters... I've just gotten Sarah to stop asking about Reid and if I'm sure I don't swing that way."

"That would be... really fucking hot, actually," Garcia says, grinning at him. "You ever been tempted? I mean, you guys do spend an awful lot of time in hotel rooms, and late at night, in the middle of a case, maybe---"

"Garcia." Derek shakes his head. "Stop right there, woman. We're talking about Reid and even if I did like guys that way, no. Just. No."

"Oh, come on," Garcia says, and he can see her fighting not to laugh. "He's cute, he's smart, he's employed, and most importantly, we know he's not a serial killer."

"No, he just fits the profile," Derek says, giving in and smiling. "What about you? You ever tempted at work?"

"All the time, sugar," Garcia answers. "By J.J."

He can't tell if she's teasing or serious, and he frowns a little, considering the possibility. It's definitely not the answer he expected. "Well, I could see that. She's cute, smart, employed, not a serial killer," he finally says with a small shrug. "She's not really my type, but I could see the two of you working something out."

Garcia shakes her head, turning away from him as the timer buzzes. He watches as she pulls a tray of brownies from the oven and sets them down on one of the racks, and he reaches for one of the sugar cookies on the platter nearest him.

"So, what is your type?" Garcia asks, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Let me guess. Looks like a supermodel, maybe with a trace of some exotic accent? Not a party girl, but comfortable going out to dance, likes pizza and beer as well as filet mignon and wine?"

"Are you sure you don't want to be a profiler?" Derek asks with a raised eyebrow and the thought that she's not exactly off-base, at least as far as his past goes. "You'd be good at it."

"No, I wouldn't," she says, switching the oven off. "I'm good with machines, computers, information. People, on the other hand, confuse the hell out of me. What I do is concrete. What you do is... messy."

"Okay. You're right, you wouldn't be good at it," he says. "You seem to think you've got me pegged, though."

It's Garcia's turn to arch an eyebrow, and he knows that look, the one that's skeptical and studying him at once. "Don't I? You smile and women want to fall at your feet and bear you fat babies," she says. "You get away with it because you don't notice the effect you have, so it's genuine and that makes it sexier. You're a good guy on top of it, and all of that means you can take your pick."

"That's... true," he admits sheepishly, ducking his head. "Maybe. Maybe it used to be, but I'm... more focused these days."

"Oh, yeah?" Garcia reaches past him to take a cookie of her own, nibbling at the edge before continuing. "Tell me about this wonder woman who has you 'focused', and why have you been holding out on me? You're supposed to let me know when I've got competition."

"Hey, I'm allowed to hold a couple of things back for myself," Derek says, bumping her shoulder with his gently. "Didn't you say something about a movie when you called me?"

Garcia's eyes narrow when she looks at him and she purses her lips. "Well done, gorgeous, trying to distract me," she says. "I'll let it slide for now since A Christmas Story is coming on in five minutes. Grab the cookies and I'll get the milk."

**

A Christmas Story gives way to Nightmare Before Christmas and they trade cookies and milk for popcorn and soda, the bowl balanced between them on the couch. Garcia makes it to the first commercial before Derek can feel her staring at him.

"I still want to know who she is," she says. "I want details. How long have you been seeing her? What does she do? How'd you meet?"

Derek sighs, reaching for his glass. Like a dog with a bone, that's Garcia with a piece of gossip. "Nothing if not determined," he mutters. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"Yes." She answers before he can even finish the question. "Inquiring minds and all that." There's a small struggle between them as she steals his glass, taking a sip then handing it back. "I still say Coke Classic is better than this vanilla-cherry stuff. I mean, why mess with a perfectly good thing? Which brings me back to the point, why _hide_ a good thing? Unless... unless you haven't actually asked her out yet. You haven't, have you?"

Derek shrugs and looks away from Garcia, studying the table in front of them and trying to make sense of the various objects on it. "One holiday wasn't enough for you?" He gestures at the miniature glass Christmas tree, sharing space with a menorah, a kinara, and a mass of crystals that he guesses are for the solstice.

Garcia grins. "I'll take all the good karma I can," she says. "That whole getting shot, nearly dying thing really makes you think about which holidays matter and how many celebrations you can pack into a year."

"So you're going to go for them all?" he asks, raising his eyebrows and trying to hide his smirk behind his glass. "Even the ones like, I don't know, Bald Is Beautiful day?"

"Isn't that everyday with you around?" Garcia asks, her fingers slide up to rub the back of his head. Derek can't help leaning into it a little and when she starts massaging the back of his neck, he actually groans before he can stop himself. "You know, every time you do that, my little twisted mind starts wondering what you sound like in bed."

"Twisted's about right," he says, bending his head forward and closing his eyes.

"Now is that anyway to talk to a woman ready to spoil you with her magical hands? I don't do this for just anybody, you know," she says, managing to sound at once scolding and amused as she sets aside the popcorn and nudges him until he turns his back to her. "You did really well in those FBI training classes, didn't you? Top marks in everything?"

"Garcia, what are you talking about?" he asks, hissing out a breath as she finds a tender spot along his shoulder.

"Oh, you know, the ones in avoiding direct questions," she says. "How to distract someone in fifty words or less. Reid's really good at it too. You study together in your room late at night, don't you?"

Derek laughs. "We're back on that? Give it up, girl. I'm not gonna hook up with Reid and you need to stop thinking about it."

"Hey, you're the one said I was determined," she protests. "You won't tell me about Ms. Perfect, so I have to have something to think about, and the idea of you sleeping cold and lonely is just sad."

"Cold and lonely isn't something I have to worry about," he says. "At least not tonight. I'm not sleeping out here on your lumpy ass couch again, you know."

"Well, well, my lovely special agent," Garcia says, sounding like she's trying not to laugh. "That's subtle. What makes you think I'm going to share my bed with you? And don't insult my couch. I love this couch."

"This lumpy, bumpy, springs in all the wrong places, too short for a man like me couch? Is that the couch you're talking about?" he teases, moving out of the way before Garcia can thwap him and grabbing her hands. He overbalances and she overbalances and one of those ill-placed springs digs into his shoulder as she falls against him. It'd be easy to move but it's easier to slide his arm around her waist, holding her where she is.

"Derek," she says softly, hand against his chest. "What're you doing? Let me up before I crush you."

He shakes his head but lets his arm drop, sitting up as she moves back to her side of the couch. "So. What _does_ a guy have to do to get into the bed of Ms. Penelope Garcia?"

**

"Derek Morgan, what are you doing?" Garcia demands, hands on hips, and Derek finds himself more than reminded of his mother as she stares at him from the bedroom door. Except his mother never wore camisoles with little dancing skeletons in Santa hats or matching boxers.

He swings his feet back to the floor and sits up on the couch. "What? I was getting ready for bed, same as you," he says, fighting off the urge to pull the blanket over his lap to cover his boxers.

Garcia actually makes a clucking sound with her tongue, and Derek tries not to feel fifteen and caught doing something he knows he had no business even thinking about. "That," she says, pointing at the couch, "is not a bed. Come on, you ridiculous yet insanely fine man. There's room for at least two in here, and I need your hot body to keep me warm."

"Is that all you want it for?" he asks, standing to join her in the doorway. "Okay, sugar, but I gotta warn you, Reid always bitches about my feet being cold."

"You—you are a brat," Garcia says, her lips twitching as she tries to look stern. "Keep teasing me like that and I'll make sure Reid knows he was the only thing you could think about all night, even with a beautiful woman right in front of you, inviting you to share her bed."

Derek looks at her, leaning against the edge of the doorframe. "You don't even believe that, silly girl," he says, reaching up to touch her cheek, quick and gentle.

"I'll tell you what I believe," Garcia says, edging past him into the room and moving to pull back the blankets. "I believe that if we don't go to bed right now, Santa won't bring any presents. I also believe that you, my delicious one, will be getting nothing but lumps of coal for the way you tease me."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," he says, getting into bed next to her. She doesn't protest when he drapes an arm over her and she snuggles in closer. "Sweet dreams, baby girl."

"With you here? I'll be lucky if I don't go into a diabetic coma," she says, words broken by a yawn. "Sweet dreams, love."


End file.
